Mick greets Wesley and his attorney in the lobby and escorts them into a different conference room. I thought Wesley said his attorney said there was no hope in helping him. If he didn't block me last night, he would know I found better help for him, but that's his loss now.
I'm able to get through a chunk of my work, tuning out the sporadic loud shouting voices. I'm dying to be a fly on the wall in that room, but it's none of my business. “Something bad is going on in there," Carla mutters under breath.
“Yeah, sounds like it."
The conference room door flings open and slams closed, making every stupid painting on the walls rattle. I try not to pay attention, so I'm avoiding the commotion, but the commotion still finds me.
Wesley is standing before me inmy cubicle, slipping his coat on over his shoulders. “I'm glad you had such a good time last night. Good luck with everything here," he says, walking away.
“Wait," I tell him.
“Can't. I have to run."
I understand he's in a shitty mood from whatever happened in there, but we're adults, so taking it out on me isn't the answer. He's halfway through the office, heading toward the front doors when I stand up and follow him. My mind isn't working the way it should be. This is my body working on its own accord. There is no reason to chase him. He blocked me because I was out on a date last night. We aren't dating. We aren't anything more than an almost one-night stand, and I'm not sure we can classify ourselves as casual friends at the moment.
Still, here I am, now stepping outside the office reaching for his arm as he pushes the button to the elevator. “Will you let me explain," I tell him.
“Explain what?" He seems confused like I'm on a different page than he is. Either he's got this acting thing down pat, or there's some serious confusion.
“I tried to text you last night but forgot my phone at home when I left my apartment, and it was the longest most drawn out dinner ever. Then I sent you a text message this morning too."
“First, I didn't ask you to text me. Second, it's called quiet hours. My phone is on silent between eleven and eight in the morning and I haven’t gone through my messages yet. In any case, the quiet hours works out for the one-night stands, right?”
“Jesus, that's not what happened. You're awfully presumptuous for someone who doesn't read contracts that could ruin his career."
“I told you not to speak to anyone here, Mr. Moon." His attorney walks by me as the elevator door opens like it opened just for her uppity presence. “I assume she is the girl you mentioned?" The woman scans me up and down right before the doors slide shut. “Yeah, not worth it," she says. The last thing I see is the questioning glint in Wesley's eyes, and I'm unsure if he agrees with her comment, if it's remorse for his attitude, or if he's angry at me for last night.
Well, that's that. I'm pretty sure this moment is up there with the lowest points in my life. I can't imagine a worse interaction with a guy I'm attracted to for no damn good reason.
